It stands upon a hill
So silent and so still —
This resting place for all our dead,
From far and near,
Our loved ones dear,
Within its gates are led.
Some with crowds and great ado,
Some with friends and flowers few,
But six feet deep, all take their sleep —
The rich and poor alike.

Its lawns so stately and so green
By strangers to be seen,
As by they often ride
They point with greatest pride,
To our City on the hill.
When lifes’ journeys past
And we reach the end at last;
When our journeys done,
May the western sinking sun
Reflect upon us still —
The rich and poor alike.

We’re just a small part of the state
With buildings neither famed nor great.
But Wyoming’s little sleeping ground,
Is not surpassed in miles around.
It’s always kept in order neat,
Where friends from all around may meet.
So let’s face the future with a will,
To make it more attractive still,
So when our life is over
With six feet may they cover —
The rich and poor alike.